Time's Running Out
by HR always live on
Summary: Another HR fic. Set 9-8. Lucas has kidnapped Ruth, but this time Albany is real. What happens when Harry can't exchange the file for Ruth's life? Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**So a slightly different kind of story from me here. Set during 9-8 but going on my own way from there. Also the first few chapters will be shorter than I usually writer. Hopefully short and quick!**

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**8th November 2010 2:35pm**

The echo of the gun shots were still ringing in Harry's ears as Lucas crumpled to the ground. Harry ran towards him, praying that it hadn't been a kill shot. He felt a slight relaxing of tension when he heard Lucas moaning on the ground. Crouching over him, he needed to get information more than he ever needed it in his life.

"No, you're not going to die yet," Harry hissed under his breath. "Where is she?"

"I can't…"

"Lucas, tell me where she is!" he half screamed, half begged. "Please. Where's Ruth?" Nothing. "I need to know. Come on!"

"She's on an anaesthetic drip," Lucas breathed as his eyes rolled, clearly in pain from the bullet lodged in his chest. Judging from the darkness of the blood, he didn't have long to live. "She'll overdose… soon. Very soon."

"No," Harry whispered, fear filling him. He suddenly had a very strict time frame within which he had to find her. If he didn't… it would be unthinkable.

"Where!" Harry demanded. "I need to find her." Lucas closed his eyes and Harry felt the thrill of fear. "Don't be responsible for killing her, Lucas. Have some compassion." Lucas's eyes glazed over, the lack of life telling. "No, wake up you bastard." He knew in his heart that Lucas had breathed his last, but he couldn't accept that. Because if he accepted it, then what would happen to Ruth? He felt sick as he realised what this meant.

"Harry…" A hand on his shoulder accompanied the voice, trying to pull him away.

"No!" he shouted. Gripping Lucas's jacket tightly he pressed him against the concrete, begging for him to wake up. "Come on. I need to find her." Nothing. Lucas was gone. "Shit."

Harry stood up and turned away from his traitorous former section chief with disgust to face both Beth and Dimitri. "Find her," he said urgently. "I don't care how, relay it to Tariq, maybe Lucas or Ruth have been caught on CCTV somewhere. We don't have much time."

Both of them got on their phones, as did Harry, calling a car to take them back to the grid. He had to find her, because the alternative was simply unthinkable. To know that Ruth was going to overdose, but not know where she was? The worst kind of torture. Or maybe that had been Lucas's point. Shaking his head, he did something he hadn't done in years. He prayed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the encouragement for part one. Here's the next short chapter.**

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**5:51pm**

Harry was trapped in a nightmare. They'd gone past a reasonable time frame for finding Ruth alive, and they were still no closer to finding her, or even her location. Dimitri knocked on Harry's office door timidly then came in. The look on his face gave it away before he could say a word.

"No news?" Harry asked, the pleading in his voice evident to his own ears.

"No." Harry sighed and poured most of what was left in his bottle of whisky into his glass, taking a gulp of it as Dimitri looked uncomfortable. "Lucas could have been lying. Even if he wasn't, he could have under estimated how long it would have taken Ruth to…"

"Die," Harry said, his voice very soft as he studied the wood grain of his desk. "Lucas wasn't lying," he added. "I can tell, and he… just wasn't."

"Harry…"

"She was hooked up to a drip, slowly dying and I've done nothing to help her. She thinks I've abandoned her, what else could she think?"

"Harry…"

"You know what makes this even worse?" he said, mostly speaking to himself. "She told me. She told me Lucas was in trouble and needed our help. And I ignored her. I thought I knew better. When will I ever learn to trust that woman's instincts?"

"She is brilliant," Dimitri said. "Don't give up hope. We're still searching. Just because the last two locations CO19 searched were wrong doesn't mean…"

"I know," he said. He took another drink of whisky, noticing as if it were happening to someone else that his hand was shaking badly. "Oh, my God."

Dimitri silently turned and left him alone, the office door clicking loudly in the silence. Harry could feel the panic which he'd fought off all day threatening to overwhelm him as the adrenaline faded. He didn't know what else to do, the team had called all the hospitals in London and every lead they could find had led them to dead ends.

"Oh God, Ruth," he said under his breath. How could this be happening?

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**More tomorrow. :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**11:02pm**

At around ten, his team were getting restless with the lack of progress being made into finding Ruth, feeling useless and wanting to go home. So Harry let them go, knowing that there was nothing they could do on the grid now anyway. It was too late. Far, far too late. Ruth was probably already… dead, and had been for hours. Even when thinking to himself, Harry shied away from the word. _Dead_. So horribly final.

Sitting alone in his office, Harry braced himself for what he had to do. He'd made this phone call for other agents in the past, but he'd hoped dearly that Ruth would never be one of them. He picked up his phone on the grid, and made the call that he had hoped he would never have to make.

"What do you want?" came a low voice of someone who was clearly sleeping.

"Mark, it's Harry Pearce," he said.

"What do you want this time?"

"Do you still oversee the unidentified bodies for the mortuary?" he asked.

"For one borough in London," Mark said. "Yes, but there's more than one morgue in a city this size, you know that."

"Yes, I know," Harry said. "But you have access to the database?" He was fairly sure Mark hadn't moved on, but he needed to check.

"Yes," Mark said after a pause. "Who are you looking for?"

"A woman, Ruth Evershed, though I doubt she'll have anything that identifies her." Harry sighed, then took in a shaky breath before continuing. "White, brunette, forty years old, five foot four."

"Have you got a picture?" Mark asked.

"Yes, I'll send one over to you," he replied. "Mark, it's very important that we find this woman."

"Are you sure she's dead?"

Harry closed his eyes before replying. "Almost sure. I just… Look, I'll send you a picture."

"Okay," Mark said. "I had a brunette brought in yesterday who could fit your description…"

"No," Harry said. "It will be today. Or after today. She was… Yesterday she was here."

"Okay, I'll keep an eye out."

"Thank you, Mark," Harry said fervently. "Thanks for the favour. I appreciate it." They said their goodbyes and Harry put the phone down. He stared around the empty grid and he broke down. She'd gone. One day and it was over for her. She'd died. Lucas had killed her and he hadn't been able to do a thing to stop it. He sobbed into his hands, thinking of the blue eyes he'd never see again, the face he always turned to, the woman he longed for with every part of his being. She was gone and it was final. And he shook and cried, realising that he would now be permanently and forever alone.

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**More soon, and thanks for the reviews so far.**


	4. Chapter 4

**12th November, 9:12 am.**

She'd been gone for four days, he thought to himself as he took a long detour before turning up to the grid. He had something important to do before work. Ruth'd been gone for four long, torturous, painful and confusing days. He couldn't accept that she was… he couldn't even think the word. Last night before leaving the grid he'd picked up a copy of Ruth's keys to her flat and he now parked outside her building. It was nothing to the beautiful house she'd had before the Cotterdam fiasco, but it was a nice enough place, he thought to himself.

He slowly walked up the stairwell to the third floor of the building and let himself in to her flat. She had three different locks on her door, so it took him several minutes, but luckily the alarm had already been disabled by Tariq, so he didn't have to contend with that. He closed the door and didn't move for a couple of minutes, thinking. No one had been here lately. The flat had the air of stillness that abandoned places tend to get. No, Ruth hadn't been here since Lucas took her. It wasn't until the thought went through his mind that he realised that was exactly what he'd been hoping for. Hoping against all hope and evidence to the contrary. There was no movement here, nothing to suggest anyone had been here at all. The hallway was tiny, and apart from a coat rack, there was nothing there. That and a pair of black boots abandoned casually by the door. He moved through to the kitchen and felt a lump in his throat.

It was untidy to say the least, making it look like the owner was going to come back at any moment. Cluttered and disorganised, more so than he would have ever guessed Ruth to live in. There were a pile of dishes in the sink, post scattered on the kitchen side, half opened, half not. On the kitchen table was a half drunk cup of coffee, a plate with the remnants of toast left on it and Saturday's newspaper lying open on an advert for Swan Lake at the Royal Opera house. Looking at the floor, he found a pair of fluffy white slippers thrown haphazardly and he smiled. Then he felt sick for smiling at a time like this.

Looking at the kitchen counter top, he saw half a glass of water with a packet of pills next to it. Checking, he found them to be sleeping pills. Had she not been sleeping well? Harry could relate to that, he hadn't slept more than a handful of hours since Lucas kidnapped Ruth. Sleep seemed like such a waste of time when he could be working towards finding her.

He moved through to the bedroom, feeling like he was invading her personal space, but not enough to stop him from doing it. The bed wasn't made, the sheets pulled back when she'd got out of it that fateful morning Lucas took her. An empty wine glass stood on the right bedside table, which was clearly the side she slept as the pillow still had an indent from where she'd last laid her head. The bed linen was a light blue colour, which he wouldn't have guessed to be her preference. A murder mystery thriller rested on the bedside table too, a bookmark about two thirds of the way through. From old spies habit, he picked up the book and flicked through it, but beyond the bookmark there was nothing to find. He looked around the surprisingly light room, wondering what else he could guess about her life, things he wouldn't necessarily have know about her before. She was a private person. _Was_, he thought with disgust and despair. He'd thought about her with the past tense, and it made him feel sick.

On the wall opposite the bed was a large framed picture of a beach, but it wasn't a professional photo. He guessed it to be a beach close to Exeter, where Ruth had grown up. He wondered if Ruth had taken the photo herself. On the side of the bed that Ruth didn't sleep, there was a photo frame with two pictures in it. One of the Eiffel Tower, the other of the Empire State Building. Before he knew he was moving, the frame was clutched in his hands. He remembered that conversation as if it were yesterday. When they'd pleasantly argued about the better city. He'd let her win any argument she wanted if he could just see her again. Just once more. To say goodbye properly.

Following instinct and training without really thinking about it, he took the back off the frame and found an envelope with his name written in Ruth's familiar handwriting. With shaking hands he took it, then placed the photo frame back. He traced the lines of his name for almost a minute before he turned the envelope over. On the back was written: _To be opened only in the event of my death. _There was a date too, some seven months before and Harry quickly counted backwards. It was just after he proposed so poorly. At Ros's funeral. God, what had he been thinking?

His fingers hovered on the back of the envelope, debating strongly whether to open it or not. She most likely was dead, but… he couldn't. He stowed the envelope safely in his jacket pocket, wanting to keep it close but resisting the urge to open it. Next he lifted up the false bottom in the bedside drawer and found four passports, all with Ruth's photograph, but only one in her real name. The other three were aliases, but Harry was only aware of two of them. Her third alias he'd never heard of, and he realised that after Cotterdam, she was prepared to run again if it ever became necessary. This was enforced by what he found in the mostly empty spare bedroom. Two different holdalls packed with supplies were waiting in the wardrobe, all packed and ready to be picked up at a moments notice. Seeing how prepared she was, he wouldn't be surprised if she had several lockers full of supplies throughout the city. But he'd never be able to find them without further information, and the letter felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. There could be answers there? Possibly? He'd also never be able to tell if she had taken a bag and gone on the run of her own free will, unlikely though it was.

He kept looking through her flat, but nothing else pulled his attention. Nothing except the gnawing ache of her absence and her loss.

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**More soon. Thank you for the wonderful reviews so far!**


	5. Chapter 5

**17th November 12:27pm**

Harry felt the darkness overwhelm him. They still hadn't found Ruth, and her body hadn't turned up either. He had kept Albany safe and in British hands - but at what cost? A good, intelligent and kind woman had died. Even if Lucas had been lying and she'd not been hooked up to an anaesthetic drip, too long had now passed. If she were able to, she would have got in contact with them. She'd know how much they would be worrying about her. Which meant that she couldn't contact them, and the only option meant that she'd died, probably of dehydration. If she'd been kept in a locked room, as he assumed Lucas would have done, she'd be gone. With no sustenance she wouldn't have lasted more than a couple of days, and he was losing any hope he had left.

Other cases were coming in now, other terrorist plots that needed foiling, but he didn't have the focus for them. All he could think of was Ruth. His Ruth. Most likely rotting somewhere in central London.

He was being pressured to find a "replacement" for her on the grid too. They were short staffed but he couldn't even contemplate going through the personnel files for anyone, let alone Ruth's "replacement."

His phone rang and he picked it up wearily. "Pearce."

"Harry," a male voice said that he had trouble placing. "I've got a woman here that could be the one you're looking for." He sat up straighter at that, now recognising Mark's voice.

"What do you mean, could be?" he asked.

"Well, her face is in a bad way," he said. Harry sensed his hesitation and pushed him.

"What do you mean by that?"

Mark coughed uncomfortably. "Some animals been at her."

Harry ignored this. "How long's she been dead?"

"Five or six days at an estimate. Age between thirty five and forty, brunette and fit's the height."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he said.

"Okay," Mark said, knowing there would be no talking him out of this. Harry disconnected the call and quickly left his office, calling down to his driver as he did so. He was almost at the pods when Dimitri called him.

"Harry, where are you going?"

"Doesn't matter."

"What about the bombers?" he said. "Don't you want to…"

"For all I care, they can blow up the entirety of London," Harry said harshly. "Call section G for remedial staff before we can hire some more agents," he added in a softer tone. "I have to go."

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He stood before the table, the body covered with a sheet, his heart thumping hard in his throat. He didn't know if he wanted this to be Ruth or not. She had to be dead by now, and having a body would prove that, it would give him something to say goodbye to properly. But as long as he didn't have a body, she could still be somewhere out there. Somewhere alive.

Mark drew back the sheet and Harry braced himself as the body came into view. "It's not her."

"You sure?" Mark asked. "I know there's a lot of bruising around the face and half her cheek's gone, but…"

"It's not Ruth." There was a similarity in the facial features, but it wasn't her. He didn't know how he'd expected to feel. But the massive disappointment mixed with relief that he didn't have to look at her lifeless face, and a tiny flare of hope left him breathless. Mark covered the body with the sheet, and Harry felt his legs buckle.

Five minutes later, Harry was being made a cup of tea in the break room, still shaking. "So this Ruth is more than just another agent then?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said, feeling it was pointless to deny it. "She… oh God." He wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the heat seep into his fingers in an absent way.

"You can tell me," Mark said. "If you need to talk. Who am I going to tell?"

"Mm," he said. "With the amount MI5's paid you over the years I hope you know how to keep your mouth shut by now." Mark inclined his head in agreement.

"It's my fault she's dead," Harry said quietly. "I was asked to give up a state secret in exchange for Ruth's life. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't make the trade, and I left her to die alone. And we still don't know where her body is."

"Why didn't you make the trade?" Mark asked.

"The… file in question could have killed millions of people. And she wouldn't have wanted me to trade that for her life, I know that. It doesn't make it any easier. It makes it worse, because I know I did the right thing, and I've lost her anyway."

"She might not be dead."

"I think she has to be," Harry said. "I've been checking the hospitals since she was… taken. If she were alive she'd have contacted us by now." Harry stood up, giving himself a mental shake. "Look, I'm going to take some time off of work for a while. Call me on my personal number instead of Thames House."

"Okay," he said. "I will if anyone fitting her description comes up."

"Thank you." Harry turned to leave, hoping he could get to the car without collapsing.

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**Thanks for the great response to the first part of this fic. More soon.**


	6. Chapter 6

**25th December 2010 9:00pm.**

Ruth's letter rested on his kitchen table as he stared at it. It'd been too long now, and all the hope he'd been holding on to that Ruth would be found alive had slowly evaporated over the weeks, as time passed and there was no sign of her. He had to accept the inevitable, and he'd made a conscious choice not to open her letter until Christmas day. He hadn't been on the grid in several weeks, but he had the files on Albany and Ruth at home. Everyday he connected his laptop to the grid and tried to find something, but he'd not been successful yet. His team on the grid had other things to deal with, such as stopping terrorists, but that seemed less and less important to him as the days passed.

He'd bargained with himself that he'd keep her letter until Christmas, then open it. He'd been putting it off all day, knowing that when he slit the envelope open, it would be admitting that there was no hope of finding her.

"Ruth's dead," he said to himself. The words sounded wrong. Unutterably wrong and he tried again. "She's dead." That didn't sound any better and he wondered if it ever would. He turned the letter over and with a heavy sigh, he opened it.

_Harry._

_If you're reading this, it means that I'm no longer here with you. Whatever it is and however it happened, please don't blame yourself. I know you will anyway, because I know you, but it's not your fault. I chose to work for MI5 and I knew the risks, very well after my exile, so don't take on the responsibility of my death. You already carry so much weight on your shoulders. I sometimes think you blame yourself for far too much._

_It's very hard to write this letter, imagining the time that you'll have to read this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that we never quite made it the way I'm sure we both wanted to. I'm sorry that I was scared and I ran from you so often. It wasn't fair to either of us._

_I should have told you before, but I always found a reason not to. I love you, Harry. I have for years, but it never seemed the right time to say it. And if I'm being honest, I was a little afraid of your reaction. Afraid you'd tell me you loved me, and afraid that you wouldn't. I love you. I hope you never have to read this, because if you do it means I'm no longer here. But I suppose this letter is… well. Just in case._

_Do one thing for me. Please. Don't carry around the guilt from my death, Harry. It isn't your fault. Promise me, even if I can't hear you say the words._

_Always yours, Ruth._

He read it twice, then filled a glass with whisky and read it twice more. Of course it was his fault. How could it be otherwise? Obviously when she'd written that she hadn't known what the situation would be, but it couldn't be more his fault if he'd tried.

He wished he'd given up Albany. He wished he'd traded it to Lucas for Ruth's life. He would have ended up in prison as a traitor for giving away a state secret, and he'd have ended up with no career or pension, but it was better than the alternative he was currently living with. Ruth would be alive. Harry might never regain his freedom, but Ruth would be alive. Breathing. How could something so simple seem to be miles out of reach? It made no sense.

"Oh, I miss you, Ruth," he said to himself. He had longed for more with Ruth, for a proper relationship, but it seemed that he'd taken for granted what they had. They understood each other on a level that was so rare, he'd almost taken it for granted that she'd always be there for him. That she'd always be right at his side and it now seemed so foolish. How could he have assumed she'd always be there? It was so short sighted, especially in their chosen careers.

He drained his glass of whisky and refilled it quickly. He knew he was going to get drunk tonight.

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**More soon. Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**4th January 2011 7:12am**

Harry groaned as the doorbell woke him. He'd been sleeping in his armchair and his neck was now shooting with pain from the awkward angle. He hurriedly got up as the doorbell rang again. Checking his watch, he wondered what anyone would want with him at seven in the morning.

Opening the door, he found Malcolm standing there. His old friend didn't even say hello. "Why didn't you tell me, Harry?"

"Come in." Harry took his seat again in the lounge and Malcolm looked around critically, the room stinking of old whisky, dirty glasses littering every surface in the room. A fine film of dust was lying over everything except for the armchair and the whisky decanter.

"Why didn't you call me when she went missing?" Malcolm repeated.

"She didn't go missing, Malcolm," he said. "Lucas kidnapped her, then left her to die alone."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know how much you cared for her. She knew too."

"I don't..." he took a deep breath and tried again. "We don't have a body, but… it's been two months. If she's alive, why wouldn't she contact me? If she were alive, she must know how this is driving me insane. It means she can't be. She just can't be."

Malcolm said nothing but his silence was damning.

"This is awful," Harry said. "To know she's dead, to know she died because of her… her importance to me, but to not have her body. To not know how she died. Whether she was in pain. Whether she was aware of what was happening to her. Whether she blamed me." He closed his eyes, unable to voice the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing. "Malcolm… It's torture."

"You need to get up, have a shower, shave and stop drinking whisky. And sleeping in your bed rather than the arm chair or the sofa wouldn't kill you every once in a while."

"Malcolm…" Harry started, shaking his head.

"Do you really think she'd want you to live like this?" he asked firmly. "In the midst of a whisky haze? Unable to even see which way is up?"

"No." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. "No, I know she wouldn't."

"Harry, do you want me to try and find her body?" he asked quietly. "I know I can't imagine what you're going through, but she's my friend too."

"If the grid couldn't find her…"

"They have other things to do with their time," Malcolm said. "They can't spend several weeks focusing on finding one missing agent when terrorists are still trying to blow up the country. And I flatter myself that I'm slightly more talented than anyone you have in Thames House."

"Can you find her?" Harry asked quietly.

"Give me all the information you have," Malcolm said. "I'll do my very best. But Harry, you should have called me weeks ago."

"I know," he said. "I haven't exactly been thinking straight. And I haven't been in to work in… a while."

Malcolm nodded in agreement as Harry brought to hand a memory stick from his trouser pocket. "I look at it everyday, trying to find something we missed," he added at Malcolm's obvious surprise that he had the information on him. "I miss her so much."

"I know," he said.

"Thank you for this," Harry said.

"I'll find her," Malcolm promised. "Get cleaned up." Malcolm looked through the cupboards and took four bottles of whisky he could find before he left the house, hoping that Harry would get himself sorted out. Staying drunk for two months wasn't helping anyone, least of all Harry.

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**More soon. Thanks for keeping reading and reviewing even though I'm being really mean!**


	8. Chapter 8

**So sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, fanfic wasn't letting anyone logging in yesterday.**

**11th January 9:01am.**

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"What…? Wait, what?" Harry said as he opened his front door to an unexpected guest.

"I guess that's hello," Catherine said, half pushing past her father to get into his house. She sat at the kitchen table before Harry could even blink, looking at him expectantly.

"Not that I mind, but what are you doing here?" he asked, putting the kettle on out of reflex.

"Malcolm called me. He mentioned that you were having a hard time. Someone called Ruth." Harry closed his eyes, surprised that the mere mention of her name caused him so much pain.

"Dad. Tell me about her." Harry took in a deep breath, wondering how he could get away from answering. Then he met his daughters determined gaze and he realised he couldn't. He took another breath and tried to put the woman he loved so dearly into words he could share with his daughter.

"She's… unlike anyone I've ever met. I love her." He looked at the table, feeling a lump in his throat. He hadn't allowed himself to talk about her out loud before. To say what she meant to him. "I find it… difficult to talk about her."

"I've got plenty of time," she said gently. "I want to hear about her, if you can tell me." He reached across the table and squeezed his daughters hand tightly, appreciating her presence here more than he could ever say. He got up and found his wallet, opening it and finding a picture of her. He hadn't carried her picture long, only since he'd lost her. Because he no longer had the luxury of looking at her beautiful face every day at work. The photo was about a year old, at a Christmas party on the grid. She'd been smiling, but not at the camera. It was an unguarded moment and he treasured that photo. He'd had it for a while, but he hadn't looked at it, really looked at it in months. Until he put it in his wallet a week after she'd died. Now he couldn't stop looking at it.

Very reluctantly he passed it over to Catherine who took it gently. "She's beautiful."

"Mm," he agreed as he took the photograph back and carefully put it back in its place. "She's breathtaking."

"Younger than I thought," Catherine said.

"It doesn't matter. The age gap is just… completely irrelevant. She's the most intelligent person I've ever met. Good and kind and she saw something in me that I don't think anyone else has ever seen in my life." It was getting easier to talk about her now that he'd started. "She saw me, beneath the façade I have to show to do the job I do. She never judged me for those horrible choices I had to make. She had a quiet grace about her which I loved. And it's my fault she's dead."

"Why is it your fault?" Catherine asked.

"Because someone I knew… he knew how much I cared for her. So he kidnapped her and said he'd kill her unless I gave up a state secret for him. And it would have killed millions of people so I couldn't do it. And he left her to die because of my choice. And I have… I still haven't found her. I want to be able to bury her properly. I don't want her missing, I want her home. Actually, I want her alive." He brushed the tears away with impatience, not wanting to cry in front of his daughter.

"Would she have wanted you to exchange millions of lives for her own?" Catherine asked with a logic Harry had already asked himself several times a day since Lucas took her.

"No, she wouldn't have," Harry said. "She never thought she was worth that much. But she was to me. Every single day I wish I'd made a different decision. I miss her Katie." She smiled at his pet name for her that he hadn't used since childhood.

"It will get better in time," she said.

"I doubt it."

"Dad… I have something to tell you, which I've been arguing about how to say in light of recent events."

"Just say it," he said, waiting anxiously. What other disaster was coming his way? Catherine went to her handbag and picked up something that she proffered to him. An ultrasound picture. He looked at his daughter in surprise.

"You're…?"

"Pregnant yeah," she said, biting her lip. "I know the "good news" for me isn't coming at the best time, and I'm sorry for that, but…"

"That's wonderful," he said. He managed to smile, the first one in many weeks. "How far along are you?"

"Twelve weeks."

"Catherine, that's great," he said sincerely. He hugged his daughter for a long time. "Who's the father?" he asked when he let her go.

"We're not going there," she said gently. He didn't push it.

"It's great news," he said sincerely. "Congratulations."

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About an hour after Catherine left, Harry's phone rang. It was Malcolm.

He spoke without preamble, not even a hello. "I've found her."

"Where is she?" Harry asked urgently. "I need to see her, which morgue?" The silence on the other end seemed to last for an age before Malcolm next spoke.

"She's outside your door."

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**More soon, hopefully tomorrow if ff cooperates!**


	9. Chapter 9

**11:59am**

Harry dropped the phone onto the floor and it broke into pieces but he didn't stop to pick them up. He hurried to the front door and threw it open. And there she stood. Real and alive and breathing on his doorstep. At that moment he couldn't have moved had his life depended on it. The sight of her had frozen him to the bone and they spent a full minute standing still, staring at each other in disbelief.

"Am I hallucinating?" he asked, voice very soft when he finally found the will to speak again.

"No," she whispered, her eyes shining with tears that she was trying not to cry. She wore jeans and a flattering T shirt in navy blue, her hair was tied back out of her face, reminding him of how she used to wear it on the grid years before. He knew he was focusing on the details to try and cope with the enormity of her truly standing in front of him.

She swallowed twice to try and clear her throat before speaking. "Hello Harry." Her voice sounded thick with emotion and he felt near to tears too. He walked the three steps between them until he could reach out and touch her. Very slowly he moved his right hand until his fingertips touched her palm very gently, feeling a powerful shock run through him at her warm skin. She was real. He joined their hands, his fingers lacing though hers. He'd been watching their joined hands for countless moments and he drew his eyes away, back to her hypnotic beautiful blue eyes.

"Oh, Harry," she said, wiping away a tear that fell down her cheek. He couldn't stop himself and he pulled her into an embrace. They were both breathing heavily, trying to keep the tears from falling. His breathing was ragged into her shoulder as he tried to keep himself from falling apart. He could smell the scent of her hair, bringing an echo of so many times in the past.

He let her go and before he'd even made the conscious decision, he'd kissed her, lips soft against his in the most beautiful way, the most delicious few seconds he'd known in years.

"Ruth, where've you been?" he pleaded, arms resting on her waist, unable to let her go.

"I think we should go inside," she said. They broke apart and she wiped her face dry again and he wanted to kiss her again, but he resisted with difficulty, nodding towards the house.

"Come in."

* * *

They sat around the kitchen table in a highly charged and uncomfortable silence. He couldn't tear his eyes off of her figure, sitting in his house. He was almost afraid if he blinked she'd vanish again. She was looking at him in a similar way, her eyes flicking over him with an intensity that surprised him. He broke the silence first. "Ruth, where have you been?"

"It's… well, it's a long story and I don't remember bits of it. A lot of it, actually."

"Ruth, I need to know," he said urgently. "Are you in trouble?"

"No," she said. "I remember waking up in hospital. Apparently…" she suddenly seemed hesitant and then carried on. "Apparently Lucas drugged me?" she waited for him to nod in agreement before she continued. "I don't remember that day. It's all black, but the doctors told me that I was very near death. My brain didn't get enough oxygen from the overdose and I suffered memory loss." She swallowed and looked away from him, focusing on the table instead. "I imagine you had people on the grid looking into the hospitals?"

"Yes," he said.

"At the hospital, they didn't know my name," she said. "_I_ didn't know my name which will be why I'm guessing I never turned up on any hospital lists.

"Amnesia?" he asked, trying to keep his cynicism out of his voice.

"Yes," she said. "The doctors said that the lack of oxygen… well, I was lucky to be alive and if my memory had gone that was a small price to pay. Or that's what they thought anyway." She sighed heavily. "You're a hard man to find, Harry," she said.

"_I'm_ hard to find?" he questioned in disbelief.

"I didn't know where you lived," she said, speaking quietly. "I've been looking for you since I was discharged from hospital. I…" She shook her head, brushing the tears away. "For a long time… I didn't even know your name. I could see your face, but… that was all. You have no idea how frustrating that is."

"Ruth, I have an idea," he murmured, voice heavy with meaning. "How's your memory now?" he asked. "Where've you been living for the past two months?"

"My memory isn't great," she said sadly. "I've got chunks of it back, but I'm still missing a lot more pieces than I'd like. I keep having therapy to try and help, but I don't know how useful it is. They tell me it'll come back in time." She bit her lip in a move he'd seen so often and was so familiar to him that a rush of relief that she was sitting here with him washed over him. "As for where I've been living… you're not going to like this Harry." He looked at her, waiting for her to explain further.

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**More soon. Thank you so much for the reviews so far.**


	10. Chapter 10

**12th November 2010 10:38 am.**

"We'd be more than happy to discharge you, your medical issues are sorted out, but…"

"I have no memory," she finished off, more than a little annoyed. She wanted to get out of hospital as soon as she could. Being trapped in this white cold sterile building was driving her mad, especially as she had no other memories to draw her attention away from her current predicament. Apparently someone had poisoned her and left her to overdose. Was she a horrible person? Why would someone leave her to die like that?

"Not only that, but you have nowhere to go, no one to look after you and no way to support yourself, never mind anything else," the doctor said. "And we've been told we can't circulate your picture on the local news to get people to call in either, which is what we'd normally do."

"Why not?" she asked, latching onto that one piece of information that might provide a clue to her past. To the life she'd lived.

"I don't know," the doctor said. "Not my call." She got the feeling that the doctor wasn't the kind of man to ask awkward questions and she sighed. "But you do have a visitor."

"Oh?" she asked, brightening up at that. Maybe whoever her visitor was, it would jog her memory. Or they'd be able to tell her who she was, anything would be better than this not knowing. Her memory had gone, but over the last day or so she was getting a face springing to mind. A male face, maybe in his middle fifties, blonde hair but not much of it, warm hazel eyes looking at her, full lips and a rare smile. It was a friendly face, but she couldn't put into words her feelings about him. It felt very hard to define, but that face wasn't going away.

The door opened again and a man came in, closing it behind him and leaving them alone. "William Towers," she said. "The Home Secretary."

"I thought you'd lost your memory," he said, sitting next to her bed.

"I have, but I still have some common sense," she said. "And I have a TV in my room which has been on the news channel quite a bit over the past few days. I recognised you."

"Right," Towers said. "Still as sharp as you always were then."

"I don know who I am, or what I do. Or what you're doing here either, though the fact I have the Home Secretary at my bedside is slightly worrying."

"Ruth, you work for MI5." She rolled her eyes but he seemed serious.

"Are you just having fun with the amnesiac?" she asked.

"I'm serious," he said. "You work for MI5, and that's why you were on an anaesthetic drip, left to OD."

"That makes no sense," she said. "Assuming that that were true, that I work for MI5, why would someone attempt to kill me?"

"I don't know if that's my place to tell you," Towers said.

"My name's Ruth?" she added, running his sentences back over in her mind.

"Yes," he said. She considered that for a moment, trying out the name in her head.

"Look, can you get me out of here?" she asked. "I need to be out of hospital."

"I've got a flat we can hide you away in until your memory returns," Towers said. "No one will know you're there."

"Why do you want to hide me away?" she asked.

"It's safer for you," he said. "Honestly."

She didn't really have any option, so she decided to trust him. What else could she do?

* * *

**11th January 2011, 12:29 pm.**

"Towers," Harry said darkly. "He hid you from me?"

"He hid me from the world, Harry," she said. "He said it was for my own protection. I don't know if I believed him. At the time I didn't have many alternative choices. I didn't know enough to break free of him."

Harry contemplated this, then started to ask an awkward question. "Was it…?"

"No," she said firmly. "I barely even saw him after leaving the hospital. It wasn't like that.

"I have to ask," he said. "If it wasn't for Malcolm finding you… would you have ever found me?"

"I'd have tried," she said. "Your name isn't on any lists, this house doesn't officially exist, I couldn't find your drivers license on any database. I have been looking Harry. And I wouldn't have given up. But you're hard to find with limited information."

"Okay," he said. She looked away from him, closing her eyes as she said the next sentence. She couldn't cope with the intensity there at the moment.

"Your eyes," she said. "They were the first thing I remembered. I didn't know who you were but I knew how I felt when I looked at you. I knew you were important to me."

"Do you remember when I proposed to you?" he asked. The shock on her face removed any doubt he'd been harbouring that her amnesia might have been a lie. He hadn't really thought she'd lie like that, but it was good to know for sure. He needed to know for certain, because if it wasn't for Malcolm she may never have found him, and he'd probably always believe her to be dead.

"But…" Ruth sputtered in disbelief. She looked at her hands, clearly searching for an engagement ring and the confusion furrowed her brow as she didn't find it. "When? How?"

"You turned me down," he said gently.

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, in your defence, I made a hash of it," he said, finding the memory not as painful as he'd expected. "I proposed at a funeral. And I said all the wrong things."

"Was it…Against a fence?" she asked. He nodded "It was a beautiful cemetery. A glorious day too."

"Yes," he said, smiling slightly. "You remember?"

"Bits," she replied. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand tightly, smiling when his fingers curled around her palm.

"Look, I kept paying the rent on your flat," Harry said. "The one you used to live in. I couldn't bear to see it go, and I didn't have the heart to go through your things. If you wanted to go there, go home…"

"I thought… maybe I could stay here tonight. I really don't want to be alone. Is that okay?"

"More than," he said. "I don't want to let you out of my sight. I can't tell you… how it feels like to think you were dead."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," she said quietly.

"So am I." He looked at her for a moment. "Are you… staying? For good, I mean. Or are you going to disappear on me?"

"I have no intention on going anywhere," she said. He stood up, as did she and within moments he took her into his arms and held her tightly against him. Her soft body against his, her heart beating as an almost inaudible thump, the scent of her hair, the feeling of her chest rising and falling with her breathing.

"I've missed you," he murmured into her ear, voice wobbling slightly. "I've missed you so badly."

"I know, Harry," she said. "I know."

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**Thank you for the reviews so far. It really means a lot to me. More tomorrow.**


	11. Chapter 11

**11th January 10:32pm**

Towers went upstairs to his office as he had some files he wanted to put in the safe. He knew the instant he touched the doorknob that someone was inside. Some sixth sense was telling him that and he wasn't that surprised when he saw Harry sitting behind his desk.

"What do I owe this late night visit to?" he asked, resting the files on the top of his safe, not wanting to enter the combination with Harry looking very pissed off as he stood up. "How did you get in the house? Actually, I don't want to know," Towers said.

"You knew," Harry said, voice low and menacing. "You've known for two months that she's alive, not rotting unclaimed in some mortuary."

"Ah," Towers said. "This is about Ruth." Harry moved very quickly and before either man knew exactly what was going on, Harry had his hands around Towers' neck.

"How could you do that?!" he hissed. Towers started choking and Harry relaxed his hold a fraction.

"She needed to be dead, Harry," he whispered. "At least officially." Harry let him go, disgusted with him, and himself for having such little self control.

"You couldn't have mentioned it to me that she was alive? That she was breathing, somewhere? You knew what hell I was going through. You knew I blamed myself for her death. You couldn't have said once that somewhere in the world you knew she's alive? That's all I needed to know. I didn't need to go trawling through dead bodies in a London morgue, looking for someone who could be her."

"I did it to keep her safe," he said.

"Explain," Harry demanded after a moment, when Towers statement still didn't make any sense to him.

"She's a liability, Harry," Towers said. "Her personal relationship with you with the information that she knows from the grid makes her a liability. Added to that her memory loss, and the fact that you reacted so badly to her death… if people found out she was alive, she wouldn't stay that way for long. I hid her for her own protection, Harry."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked with impatience. "I didn't give in when Lucas pressured me, threatening to kill her."

"No, you didn't," Towers said. "And how many times over the last few weeks have you regretted that? How many times do you wish you'd made the other choice?" Harry didn't answer because it was obvious. If he had his time again, he would give anything up to keep Ruth alive, including his own life if it came to that. "Exactly," Towers said. "People, other than those you work with, dangerous people now know that she's your weak spot. That if they want anything from you, all they have to do is hurt her. She'll have to hide for the rest of her life."

"That's not true. Not if I retire," Harry argued.

"Of course it's true, Harry," Towers said. "You haven't been at work in weeks, and even if you were decommissioned properly, would you tell all the secrets you still have?" Towers asked. "Would you even be able to confide all the secrets you carry? There will always be something you know, that someone will kill to discover. That terrorists or foreign agents will be prepared to hurt Ruth for, if it gets them what they want." Harry didn't say anything. "You know it's true, Harry. I hid her in an unlisted flat to protect her. After Lucas… well, the Chinese still want Albany. They're not going to stop until they have it. Ruth is now known as your weakness and if it was common knowledge that she was still alive… They'd use her. They'd kill her. I know you no longer know where Albany is, but they don't know that. And if it wasn't Albany, it'd be something else. There'll always be something else Harry. You've been in the service too long."

Harry could hear the ring of truth in his words, even though he didn't like it. He could also see the logic, because Towers was right. There were secrets for Britain that he'd carry to his grave, secrets that others would want to know. In order to protect Ruth…

"Why would you care what happens to Ruth?"

"I don't particularly," Towers said. "I care that no more state secrets are put in danger because of your… personal relationships."

"You should have told me," Harry said. "I needed to know. I hope you never go through that kind of pain you subjected me to."

"I didn't like lying to you," he said. "I assumed when Ruth got her memory back that I wouldn't be able to keep her away from you anyway. As I assume happened."

"She's not… actually, that's not any of your business." Harry sighed. "I have to go." He moved past Towers and went home. Ruth was sleeping in the spare room, and he knew he had some serious thinking to do.

* * *

**9:59pm**

Harry had gone out to talk to Towers, and Ruth needed to sleep. It'd been a long, long day and she was bone tired. Going downstairs she put the kettle on to make a cup of tea, and rummaged through the cupboards trying to find the teabags. She did, but not before she came across a file. An MI5 file with her name on it. She took it out, with the box of teabags and looked at it. About two inches thick and clearly it'd been flicked through and read often because it was getting dog-eared. She put it on the kitchen table while she made her tea, debating about whether to open it. She only hesitated for a few moments before she did, curious about what it said about her.

Fingers wrapped around her mug, she opened the file and within moments she became absorbed with the information. It was when she reached the part about Cotterdam that she froze. She remembered. Her mind filled with the memories that had been locked away for two months. Closing her eyes, she could feel the frigid air against her face as Harry kissed her on the dock, saying goodbye. The overwhelming sadness that she had to leave London and him as she got on the boat, his eyes fixed on her until she was out of sight. His hands tightly grasping hers as she said lowly, "Let me go, Harry."

Other images filled her mind, quickly. Flashes and snapshots. Danny being shot as she listened on a headset, Lucas taking her from the back of a surveillance van, the blackness that overwhelmed her when he injected her, Harry telling her that Jo had been shot and her friend had died as she tried to keep the tears at bay. Her graduation from Oxford. Her mind filled with a thousand images so quickly that she had to gasp for breath.

When she could breathe easily, she found she had a headache, unsurprisingly. She hoped Harry wouldn't mind as she rifled through his drawers for some paracetemol, which she found quickly. Swallowing, she sat quietly at the table trying to align her thoughts into some kind of order. In the peace and quiet, she came to one conclusion as she mulled over Harry. She loved Harry. So many days and nights trapped on the grid together, hours on end and she'd never found the opportunity to be brave and tell him how she felt. Would it have cost her to be brave, just once?

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**More soon.**


	12. Chapter 12

**11:15 pm**

For the first time in weeks, Harry actually paid attention to his street, looking for people who may be watching him. He'd become lax in his home security lately, simply because it hadn't seemed important with Ruth dead. Now after Towers conversation, he took his time, looking up down the street. He felt the back of his neck prickle as if he were being watched, but he wasn't sure if that was simply because he'd started paying attention to his surroundings. There was a white unmarked van four houses down, which Harry knew his neighbour used for work. But the registration plate wasn't the same. _Shit_, he said to himself. Who were they? Then he shook his head, because he'd never know simply from looking.

Harry unlocked his house and quickly set the alarm before going upstairs. He had to check Ruth was still there, he couldn't contemplate going to sleep before he'd seen her. Luckily she'd left the door of the spare room ajar by a couple of inches and he managed to look at her without disturbing her.

She lay on her side, facing the door but clearly asleep, her hair messy on the pillow. He smiled at her, he couldn't help it. God, he loved her so much it hurt. Looking at her beautiful face, he knew that he couldn't let her be hurt or be put in danger again because of him. Her proximity to him, her closeness to him and the relationship they almost had that put her in danger. Towers was right, people would hurt her to get him to do what they wanted. Everyone had known what Ruth meant to him on the grid, but now Lucas had used that information, more and more people would know it. And it was naïve to think she'd never be kidnapped again. Taken and possibly killed.

He knew what he was going to have to do. He was going to have to push her away and the thought turned his heart cold. He'd just got her back in his life, and the right thing to do was to leave her alone. God, just the thought of it hurt like hell. Imagining never seeing her again. Imagining pushing her away.

He sighed and shook his head. But he didn't stop watching her sleep. He had no idea how long he stood in the doorway admiring her face in the dim light. He didn't know if he'd ever get the opportunity again. He only moved away from her when she fidgeted in her sleep, blinking at the ceiling. Thinking that being caught watching her wouldn't be the best move, he walked away and lay back on his own bed, staring at the ceiling. God, he wasn't looking forward to tomorrow. And he had no idea what he would say to her in the morning either.

* * *

**12th January 8:02am.**

"Sleep well?" Harry asked as Ruth emerged into the kitchen. She wore the same outfit as the day before, not having any of her clothes here.

"Yes, thanks," she said. "Very well." She made herself a cup of tea and then sat opposite Harry. He was dressed, but casually and his shirt was open at the throat. "I have a confession to make," she said. "I found my file in your kitchen cupboard. And I read it."

"Oh," he said. "I've been… flicking through it."

"I see that," she said. "Anyway, it jarred something in me when I read it." She cleared her throat, looking a little uncomfortable. "I remember. I remember everything."

"Ruth?" he asked quietly. She smiled, reaching across the table for his hand, which she squeezed tightly. "I read about Cottedam and it was like… it all slipped into place."

"I hated you leaving," he murmured.

"I know," she said. "And I hated leaving you, I wanted… all I wanted was for you to never let go of me."

His lips turned up in half a smile which warmed his eyes and made her smile in turn. All too quickly that smile faded. "I have bad news," he said. "I spoke to Towers last night, and he said… that you could possibly be used to get me to do what foreign powers or terrorists want."

"I've known that for a long time," she said. "What's changed?"

"There's a white unmarked van watching us from four doors down," he said. "What Towers said made sense, but when I came home and saw that…"

"Are you frightened?" she asked, still holding his hand. She didn't speak condescendingly, more curious.

"Not for me," he said. "I'm frightened for you. I can't bear you being put in danger because of me. Because of what I do and the secrets I know."

"Harry, I knew the risks when I joined MI5," she started but he interrupted.

"Yes, but these aren't everyday risks. It's more because of how important you are to me."

"Is this you trying to… what? Send me away?" she asked, her lips hovering in a smile that made it clear that Harry wasn't going to sway her easily. "Harry, at this point, I don't know what I'd do without you in my life."

"Ruth…"

"You think that what happened with Lucas, kidnapping me and almost killing me, you think it'll happen again if we're close to each other. Sooner or later."

"Of course I do," he said. "It never really occurred to me before Lucas took you that you could be seriously hurt because of our connection. And I've had a long time to think about this." She sighed and got up, moving around the table and she kissed him, very gently and quickly. He looked slightly dazed when she moved away from him, and he touched his fingers to his lips, as if trying to convince himself that had just happened. She loved that look on his face and she tried to keep the smile away from her own. Within two seconds, Harry had got up and was kissing her, deeply this time. His arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her body tightly against his as his tongue stroked hers deliciously. She felt breathless and light headed and completely and thoroughly wanted for the first time in years.

He kept his hands on her waist as the kiss ended, not wanting to let her go. She reached for his face, her hand caressing his cheek lightly. "I love you, Harry," she said quietly. "I promised myself last night that I'd be brave and I'd tell you that."

"I love you, too," he said. "I always have." She smiled, enjoying his hands on her waist too much to move.

"What are we going to do about… us being watched. Undesirable people who could…?"

"I have an idea," he said. "If… you're willing to leave MI5?"

"With you?" she asked. "If you hadn't been at section D when I came back from Cyprus, I wouldn't have stayed there anyway. Of course I'll leave with you."

"Good," he said with a truly happy smile. "Then I have an idea which could let us live out our days in peace, without fear of the future. Without the shadow of threat hanging over us."

"I'm listening."

That was when the glass windows shattered from a spray of bullets, sending them both to the floor as the room filled with people speaking Mandarin.

* * *

**Coming to the end of this fic now, thanks for the support so far.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you for all the support and great reviews for this. I hope this last chapter doesn't disappoint, and we're moving on a few months here.**

* * *

**7th June 2011, 10am.**

Malcolm sighed as he bent to pick up the post. He really was too old to be bending down this far, he thought as his back twinged. Taking the letters through to the kitchen, he went through them, ignoring the bills for a moment. He came to a brown envelope, handwritten and he opened it carefully, having recognised the handwriting at once. Inside was a postcard, a newspaper clipping and a note.

The postcard was a usual shot of the London eye, but feeling it, Malcolm knew it was heavier than it should be. He took a knife and carefully pried the picture off, leaving a photograph underneath. It showed Harry and Ruth, happy and smiling. Ruth wore white, Harry in his best suit and they both radiated pure happiness as he took her in his arms. Their smiles had never been more genuine. Ruth clutched a small bouquet of pink roses, carefully hiding her right hand behind it. She'd lost a finger the day the Chinese had taken her, but looking at their pure joy, Malcolm knew that that no longer mattered to either of them. It was a beautiful photo of their wedding day. He turned to the newspaper clipping, pleased to see he was right.

_The marriage of Mr H Abbot and Miss R Cleary took place on the 25th May 2011. The couple are said to be very happy together and enjoying their retirement._

Malcolm smiled at the description. Enjoying their retirement indeed. The handwritten note with the postcard was very simple. It said "Thank you my old friend."

Beneath was an address in Dorset and Malcolm smiled. They were happy and together, finally. It seemed they'd managed to find for themselves a little corner of happiness and he couldn't have been more pleased for the pair of them. He read the note several times, making sure he had it completely memorised, including the address. Then he quickly took a match to it and burned it. He watched as the brown paper curled on to an ashtray, smiling to himself. Happy at last. He could think of no two people who deserved it more.

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**And that's the end! Hope you enjoyed it.**


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